Midsummer's Passing
by Logos Minus Pity
Summary: A chance meeting at a tavern between two individuals on Midsummer's Day. One shot. Disclaimer: I do not own Mai HiME


A short one-shot in honor of summer, Mai HiME, and also Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden book series.

_**Legal Disclaimer**_**: **Mai HiME is owned by Sunrise, while Harry Dresden is owned by Jim Butcher. I own neither.

The heavy wooden door to the White Horse Tavern creaked open, letting in the last light of a warm summer sunset along with the new visitor.

For all that the tavern was located at the intersection Church Street and Commercial Avenue—a busy area of the city, that, by all means, would make you think that it had a lot of business—the old wood frame building was rarely traversed by the typical passerby.

While most individuals had heard of it and could point you exactly where to go, almost all would note, with a hint of surprise at the self-realization, that they had never actually been to the pub themselves. Indeed, the White Horse Tavern was an establishment that catered to a more…_eclectic_…group of customers—one which rarely included the everyday human.

The wizard at the bar, like all of the other customers present, turned toward the newcomer who had entered through the door, then quickly and graciously inclined his head in acknowledgment before turning back to his drink at hand.

A group of werewolves eyed her warily from their table, while party of several rather unsavory looking vampires glanced over at her before busying themselves with their goblets of blood.

The supernatural creatures and humans who frequented the White Horse Tavern were all powerful in their own rights. But on this day, all of them trembled and bowed their heads, being careful to treat her with the utmost courtesy, as was preferred by her kind.

To the mortal eye, she appeared to be a young woman, barely in her twenties, wearing worn jeans and a simple unadorned black shirt. She was lovely. But it was a loveliness that was impossibly perfect for a human. Even in the dim yellow light of the tavern, her pale skin glowed white, and her long, dark hair caught and held the shadows, its thick locks hiding delicate ears that curved up into elegantly pointed tips.

And, indeed, her terribly bright green eyes surveyed the room through pupils that were thin vertical slits more akin to a cat's eyes than a human's. She was of the Sidhe, or the Fae—the faerie folk, the elves, the mischief-makers, the lords of the Otherworld. Countless names had been used over the span of humanity to describe her and her kind, each with their own wealth of stories and mythology. But they were like nothing out of any of the stories. She looked about the tavern, studying both the architecture and its occupants through eyes with the same disturbingly intoxicating color of absinthe.

The entire interior of the building was crafted from thick beams of dark oak, with yellow lights seemingly scattered haphazardly here and there to give some light to the otherwise somber room. The setup of everything—from the lights, to the intricately carved tables and chairs—was anything but haphazard, though.

The tavern was a certified neutral magic zone. For as many divisions and feuds as there were in the supernatural world, they were all bound by a few strict rules, one of which included respecting neutral zones. While in this bar, no fighting was to occur. The complex setup of the interior, mirroring an ancient sigil for dispersion of power, ensured that most magic anyone tried to summon here would be negated, dispersing through the lay line that the pub conveniently sat over.

Nonetheless, the great sigil had no effect on her today. It couldn't disperse power that was present throughout the entire plane of existence itself, a power that today was probably present even in the lay line deep within the earth itself.

Today was Midsummer's day, the day at which the entire Summer Court of the Fae reached their peak power. Though she was not one of Queen Titania's close advisors or confidants, she was ranked high enough in the first circle of the Court to still feel the full effects of the Midsummer. Her body quivered and seethed with magical energy, like a pitcher filled to the brim and ready to spill over.

It felt both glorious and empowering.

However, this was also the day on which power would be passed back to Queen Mab's Winter Court. From Midsummer onward, the Winter Fae would grow in power, gradually consuming the Otherworld where all of the Fae lived until Midwinter, when they too would be forced to hand power back to Titania and the her subjects.

This was the way of things among the two Faerie Courts since time immortal.

The woman shook her head to clear her thoughts, sending her hair flying. She had yet to move from her place in front of the doorway. She glanced back toward the bar, catching the eyes of the rough-looking human bartender. He straightened visibly, then nodded at her then pointed toward the back of the pub and toward the table that she always chose to sit at whenever she visited.

She began walking through the maze of tables, mentally taking note of all of the occupants in tavern today. One of the werewolves shifted nervously as she passed him. She smirked to herself, catching his scent of fear. Not that she would actually do anything to him, excepting appropriate provocation. Manners were of the utmost importance amongst the Fae, unless perhaps you were of ogre or goblin descent. And she doubted that any of the other customers would be stupid enough to risk insulting her. It would put such a dampener on her day, too.

She stopped walking.

At the very last table in the inn—at her table—there already sat another woman.

Her eyes glided over the seated figure, slowly drinking in her features for the first time in half a year. To call her beautiful would have been an insult. She was wearing a loose white blouse, elegant in its simplicity, and deliberate in how its fit just began to suggest at the perfect curves of skin and flesh that lay beneath it. The first few buttons of the blouse were undone, opened up to reveal a hint of cleavage and the creamy skin of her throat.

Natsuki swallowed and continued to force her eyes upward.

Satin locks of pale ochre hair twisted and fell down onto her shoulders, framing her youthful face and giving her a slightly tousled appearance.

Her red lips were full and plump, holding untold promises that could make men and women alike go mad with want, though only fools would think that such a rose came without its thorns, especially when it was offered from one of the Fae. Those very lips were currently twisted into a sensual smile. A smirk, almost.

But it was her eyes that were the most captivating to the unsuspecting passerby. They were a rich crimson, like first blood spilled on fresh snow. And they held that same pristine beauty and cruelty, as most of the denizens of winter did. Who knows how many poor humans had destroyed themselves over her, falling victim to that tantalizing loveliness only to be consumed by the ice that lay behind the mask.

Shizuru, lady of Queen Mab's Winter Court, smiled further, revealing unnaturally white and pointed teeth. She gestured to the open chair across from her with a perfectly manicured hand.

"_Natsuki_," she nearly purred, her voice sounding like molten desire for all that her power lay in winter and ice. "How kind of you to join me."

Natsuki inclined her head in a courtly manner, accepting the offer and seating herself across from Sidhe woman whom she would normally count among her enemies.

It had been like this for as long as Natsuki could remember, ever since she had known Shizuru, which would certainly measure as many lifetimes by human standards. Every Midsummer and Midwinter, they would inevitably be drawn to each other, against all of the instincts and rules that normally dictated the interactions between Summer and Winter. The White Horse had simply been one of their meeting places for the past decade or so, particularly attractive because it was one of the few places—in both the human world and the Otherworld where she normally traversed—that was a magically neutral zone.

Nonetheless, it was irritating to Natsuki. Not the tavern, no, but this entire meeting. She knew that many exchanges occurred between the Fae of both courts on the mid-days to the seasons, as if a domino effect from their two Queens formally meeting to exchange the baton of power. But for her to have succumbed to it, and for it to always be in such a _personal_ manner, truly, it earned her chagrin. Perhaps she could accept it on Midwinter, when she would be at her weakest. But to be unable to escape this meeting, to be unable to help herself from traveling to this place—not unlike iron drawn to a lodestone—even now, when her power was at its greatest, it was something she could not easily come to terms with. Especially when she considered the fact that perhaps it was not even so much that she was unable to deviate from her course, but that she did not _want_ to change it.

But it was not a subject to dwell upon at the moment.

She suddenly became quite aware of the fact that her mental solitude had left both she and Shizuru in an ever-expanding bubble of silence. The Winter Emissary—curse her—seemed only incredibly amused by Natsuki's unintentional muteness. A full out grin was spread across her face even as she chose to break the silence.

"Does Natsuki find herself so speechless at our reunion?" she asked, batting her eyes in faux-innocence.

Natsuki felt her hands grind into fists. She exhaled sharply, trying to control her embarrassment and frustration. In response, tiny flower buds suddenly grew out of the wood on the table, immediately bursting into bloom, an unintended consequence of her overflowing power. They were little bluebells, as fresh and lively as the first breath of spring. A sharp but sweet smell wafted from them.

Both Natsuki and Shizuru stared at them, startled by their sudden appearance. Shizuru quickly recovered herself, though, pulling one of the bluebells free from the table.

She gripped the flower firmly by its truncated stem, studying the specimen. Natsuki couldn't decipher her gaze. There was something like admiration there, but also something else that she couldn't put a name to. It was something as helplessly cold as a January blizzard. She mentally dismissed it. Cruelty was a long-standing streak in the Winter Fae after all. It simply was ingrained in their nature.

"So beautiful and filled with life," she said, her voice still as deceptively silken as ever. She twirled the tiny flower in her fingers. "And yet it so delicate, so vulnerable. So…unable to resist the inevitable touch of the seasons."

A layer of ice immediately coated the flower, freezing it into crystalline perfection. Shizuru handed the small jewel back to Natsuki, her face at ease, not betraying even an iota of the incredible power she must expended to perform such a trick on Midsummer, when sitting next to a Summer Fae, no less.

Her signature red gaze was all too knowing, and terribly predatory. Despite the summer heat even inside of the tavern, Natsuki shivered. The Winter Emissary's look spoke volumes about what she planned for the coming Midwinter's day, when Natsuki's own power would be at its weakest. A flash of hot anger pulsed through her in response. Today was supposed to be hers. She would not be shown up by Shizuru again.

She knocked aside the frozen bluebell, grabbing Shizuru's hand tightly even as she stood. Surprise cracked through the icy mask that the other woman normally wore.

"Enough talk," Natsuki said. Her voice was rough, heavy with power and desire in equal parts. "Let us move elsewhere."

Shizuru stared at her contemplatively, and then smiled again, her own thoughts in accord with the Summer Emissary's. She stood up, following Natsuki's insistent lead.

"Indeed. Time enough that we move beyond talking."

The two left the White Horse Tavern silently, only the wary eyes of the other customers marking their passing.

_Fin._


End file.
